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Dagren

Dagren Lightblade

Name: Dagren


Surname: Lightblade


Title/Nickname: None


Race: Human


Class: Paladin


Age: 56


Appearance: Dagren looks like he is in early 40's even though he is actually quite older. His hair is long aswell as his beard, they are always nicely maintained, though. He is quite muscular and in a surprisingly good condition for such an old man. His armor dates from the late years of Lordaeron but is well perserved and still serves him well in combat.

Alignment: Chaotic Good. He used to be Lawful Good but the years spent in Lordaeron after the Scourge influenced him alot.

Psychology: Dagren was considered missing in action during the Third War. He is roaming Lorderon along with the rest of the survivors of that battle. He used to obey his Master no matter what the orders were. Through years after the Scourge he developed a sense of defiance, which also made him remain romaing Lordaeron instead of joining Dathrohan in creating the Scarlet Crusade, he regularly aided them in their battles, though. He also feels guilty for the death of most of his men, but he knows there is nothing he could do.

Birthplace: Darrowshire

Actual residence:}None, he is roaming Lordaeron


Background:

Dagren takes a pen and dips it into the ink as he opens an old, empty notebook. He begins writing.

Diary of Dagren Lightblade

Why am I writing this? I don't know. Most likely it's the fear of being forgotten.
Well, I already am forgotten by all, dying alone leaving noone to cry for me. Theese
blasted lands can make a sane person a madman, I can tell you that much. Well. I suppose
I should start with the story. A am not a man of words, so don't expect to much. I was born in
Darrowshire some fifty-five or fifty-six years ago, a man forgets alot in my age. They named
me after my grandfather. The old Dagren, a good person he was, wise one, too. My father's name
was Ernest, Ernest Lightblade. He was a Captain of the guard in Darrowshire, if I remember well,
a true soldier. I really loved him. Then, when I was somewhere around ten or fifteen, he left
in War and never returned. I know he's dead, but somewhere deep in my heart, I still hope he lives,
I still hope I'll find him some day. Not to leave out. After he left I spent most of my free time
in the church, praying for his return. The priest saw my activity and he asked me to help him out
in it. I said, -Why not?. I began coming to the Church even more, helping out the priest
doing the most basic stuff. The priest, in exchange, thought me about the Light. I made a friend
in there, he was an altar boy, what was his name...James, that's right, James. His father was
also in the local guard, I won't even bother trying to remember his name. He also left when my
father did. James knew a bit about melee combat, so he gave me a wooden sword and we regularly
sparred. At first I stood no chance, but as time passed I overpowered him. By the time I was
combat-ready the Second War was culminating, so I joined in. It wasn't the war's beggining, but
I still felt I could make a difference, and I was just in time for our counterattacks to begin.
James was with me too, we were very close.

Dagren turns the page, dips his pen in the ink again and continues to write.

We had to go to Tyr's Hand first, as that was the closest recruitment post we had, and it was weeks
away. I only took the basic necessities, unlike James, who equipped himself like we're going camping.
We took our horses and rode for days, only stopping to rest and sleep. James' "equipment" was slowing
us down, so I, despite his unwillingness, disposed it. We stopped in Corin's Crossing for a few days
to get some proper rest, and continued to Tyr's Hand then. When we arrived we immediately enlisted,
were given our equipment and told to prepare for the trip in a few days. I've spent the few days in the
Barracks and the chapel, while James was wandering around the city looking for "good deals" in the port.
Why did I even choose to enlist? I'm not sure, maybe I got tired of the neverchanging idilic envirement
of Darrowshire, or maybe the subcounsious belief that I might find my father made me do it. Not that really
it matters why. So lets get back to the story. We traveled for weeks, maybe even months, I already lost the track
on the days, under the leadership of Saidan Dathrohan, until we finally reached the dwarwen lands on the south.
We were to confront the Horde there. The army encamped and waited. Two winters passed by and there was still
no sign of them. I've got even closer to the Light, spending more and more days praying as there was no other
entertainment for us, humans of the far north, down there. Finally the scouts reported some Horde movement,
not a major force, but only a smaller army. That same day we launched a full scale attack on them, wiping
every single orc, leaving no trace they were even there, apart from the corpses, ofcourse. Out casualities
were minimal. Saidan Dathrohan "saw great potential in me" so he left his friend and a high ranked officer
in charge and went back for Lordaeron with me, recommending me for a Paladin's training. James was left
down with the dwarves and the army.

Dagren turns the page once again, and also dips his pen in the ink as he does it.

The trip was, as usual, utterly long and boring. After countless weeks of traveling we arrived to Stratholme,
where I was introduced to Archbishop Alonsus Faol who welcomed me within the Order. I was given a few days
to rest from the trip and begin my training. After those days passed, Dathrohan visited we began the training.
I was his squire, I suppose. Years passed and my skills were getting better and better, I have befriended him,
aswell. Soon Alterac City betrayed us and the Horde laid siege to Lordaeron itself. I took part in that battle
along with the troops from Stromgarde proving myself worthy of the Order, and thus being allowed to skip the
remaining training. I was a Paladin, boy how excited I was on the ceremony. Standing alongside the four of the
first Silver Hands, being knighted by Archbishop Faol. I never even dreamed of being a soldier until enlising
for the War, and now I was a Paladin. A Paladin of the Silver Hand. I didn't have to leave Lordaeron again, as
I was in charge of leading a platoon of men rounding up the few remaining orcs in Lordaeron. That showed up to
be more of a task than I expected, but it was going well. Very soon the word of victory and destruction of the
Portal came, along with the one on Lothar's death. As much as we were sad for his anguished death, we
couldn't hide our happines for the final victory. We still had some rebelling clans to fight, but the general
Horde threat was over.

Dagren turns the page once again, dipping his pen in ink whide doing so.

A rumor had started to travel around Lordaeron telling how a mysterious plague had gripped the northern lands.
Most of us were confused, refusing to believe the rumors. However, King Menethil sent his son, Arthas, and
Uther north to investigate. The rumors turned out to be true, and our lands were already swarming with undead.
Arthas and his men had no trouble fighting them at that point, though. Us left back home were regularly posted
with the most recent information comming form Uther himself. He soon returned, informing us how the Order was
disbanded, and of Arthas most recent deed, slaughtering an entire city, killing innocents. Uther took a few
Paladins still loyal to him, including me, and left back to Stratholme, the city Arthas slaughtered, to bury
the dead. Lady Jaina was on the gates, waiting for us. What horrors has the man done. Streets were colored
red by the blood of the innocent. And he was a Paladin, supposed to protect those he mercilesly slaughtered.
Anyways, Prince Arthas went to Northrend, following a Dreadlord there. For months we awaited his return,
anxious and grieved. Upon arrival, he greeted the King, Terenas Menethil, he took up his cursed sword Frostmourne
he had aquired on the frozen north, and, without a moment of consideration, pierced his father. He then named
himself King of Lordaeron and gave the land to the wicked Scourge. Upon traveling south our small group was
ambushed and defeated. I was knocked unconsious during the battle, only to later wake up, seeing our men, my men
slaughtered like lambs. Legless, handless, or even headless. Blood was everywhere, a dreadful scene I will
never forget.

Dagren turns the page, dips his pen in the ink again and continues to write.

I managed to save a handful of our wounded survivors, and we burried our dead. Lordaeron was lost to the Scourge.
Me and my men remained in Lordaeron, chasing down the loned Scourge patrols. Soon I heard word that my old mentor
and friend was reforming the army, in wish to retake Lordaeron and cleanse it's lands form the undead. I was
considered missing in action, or maybe even dead, so I decided to keep it that way. I didn't join Dathrohan
in his newformed Scarlet Crusade. I layed low for some time now, trying to avoid combat and grieving for Lordaeron.
I didn't care much about the Crusade's activity, so I had no idea what was happening. Several weeks ago I heard
of a Damian Dathrohan, son of Saidan. Saidan is now considered missing in action, perhaps even dead. I was also
informed that young Damian is leading the Crusade now.
I was planning to pay him a visit, but never really felt like it. I will definitely do so in the-

-Sir! A Scourge Patrol found out our camp's location!

Dagren grabs his diary and puts it in a small satchel hanging on his belt.

-Lets go! To Arms my men!

The Scourge attacked the camp, slaughtering everyone. Dagren and his Captain, Willem Thomas, managed to slip away.

-What now sir? We have no place to sleep in, no food nor water and no men to fight.
-Don't worry, young one, I have a place for us to go.
-Where that might be, sir?
-You will see, boy, you will see...

Dagren looks into his satchel looking if the diary is still there. As he sees it he whispers -"Damian Dathrohan" and
continues walking along the road with Willem.